


Who Am I To Disagree?

by ceann_cinnidh



Series: I Travelled the World (And the Seven Seas) [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Outsider, POV Outsider on Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, The Hilltop (Walking Dead)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-03-06 02:03:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13401135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceann_cinnidh/pseuds/ceann_cinnidh
Summary: What they all saw, in the face of the nameless boy and the lone wolf.





	1. Eric

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, you were all desperate for some outsider pov, and while this might not be quite what you were all expecting, trust me - there's a lot more to come xx

They were sprawled around the small fire of twigs in a lazy circle. Their shoulders were lax and their faces easy, but tension was tight along their spines. It was a faux-ease. A falsehood. As if they were ready for a tsunami of danger to breach through the trees and wash them away in storm of blood and gore.

It was a fear present in their faces, but it was also a power. Like they knew they were the scariest things in the woods, like they knew that _they_ were the monsters lurking in the dark, like they knew they were unstoppable. Like the tsunami should be afraid of them. He and Aaron had seen people like this before – people who were wild and untamed and the hyenas of this world. Something was different about this ragtag militia though, something that wasn’t quite as cold.

Love. It was there in the soft brushes of cheeks and the grasps of rough hands and the altruistic sharing of the last drop of dusty water. They cared about each other, a no one gets left behind mind set, they were a family.

Protective; primal.

The selfless archer with the angel wings, and the studious samurai with the steady gaze, and the nervous Texan with the mullet. The teenage boy with the cowboy hat and the baby on his hip, the Asian man with the noble jaw and the wise eyes, and the soldier with the moustache built like a brick house. None of these people belonged together, and yet there they sat around the small flames like they wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

Amongst all of these colourful characters, one in particular caught Eric’s eye. The silent boy with the hospital scrub shirt beneath his grimy red hoodie, cradling a metal baseball bat like he was loathe to ever let it go. Glassy eyes and tapping fingers, sadness oozing from every pore.

Eric slowly raised the mic to listen to the quiet conversation bubbling between Hoodie and the Cowboy.

“So if you’re name isn’t really Thomas,” The younger began, “Is it… Caleb?”

Eric expected to hear an answer, but the other simply shook his head, a tight lipped smile across his face.

“Charlie?” The microphone picked up a gentle snort in response, “Stewart? Fine. I’ll get it one day, ‘Thomas’. Mark my words.”

There was something endearing about the silent boy, something that made you want to grab him, smoosh him to your chest and never let go. It wasn’t fair to call him a boy really, he had to be at least twenty but that meant he was young when it all began. Hide behind your parents kind of young.

Maybe that was it – maybe the boy without a name just seemed too old. Weary and tired and in need of a hug.

While the rest settled in for the night, ‘Thomas’ tucked his knees closer to his chest and threw his sharp chin back. He was looking at the stars. Eric tugged at the binoculars around his neck until he could see the guy closer, as if Eric was standing right by the huddled snoozing bodies.

The orange glow of the embers cast shadows across his sharp collar bones and adam’s apple, his sunken eyes and the sad longing around his frown amplified in the face of the moon.

Suddenly, as if a sharp volt had shot through him, he gripped the taped handle of the bat (Eric had watched him swipe it from a burnt out car earlier in the day), and picked his way through the mass. He tapped their sentry on the shoulder to take their place. Eric watched for what must have been an hour as the boy prowled battling whatever thoughts snaked their way through his mind.

Eric switched off the spy-gear, tucked it away in his bag, and retreated for the night.

He had a good feeling about these people.


	2. Rosita

If there were two things Rosita Espinosa knew for certain, it was mechanics and soldiers.

She saw it in the steadiness of his hand, the practicality of his movement, and the determination of his swing. It was different from the rest, see everyone was like that now – steady, practical, determined – but he bore it across his frame like it had been who he was for a long time. Like he hadn’t ever known a time without a war to fight.

He didn’t carry himself like a soldier, but Rosita knew enough about people to know appearances meant nothing. After all, no one would know she could jumpstart a tank with a pair of tweezers and a flip flop from first glance. No, this boy’s nature seemed to say, at the end of the world, ‘just another day’; ‘I’m used to it’. She didn’t think she’d ever be used to not brushing her teeth, or wanting to scratch out her throat form thirst, or have half the forest clinging to her ankles.

She found herself in a conundrum however, because the boy from Grady Memorial was far too young to have been military and yet she’d been thinking about it too long to associate him with anything else.

Maybe he was a gang kid, or maybe he was from a bad home, or maybe he was just a military brat. Either way, her curiosity was peaked, something that didn’t happen often.

“So you don’t speak at all?” She asked, chewing on her chunk of dog.

He shook his head no.

“Why?”

He raised his middle finger, gnawing away at his own piece of Fluffy the canine. He didn’t like questions that weren’t yes or no.

“Did you speak before?”

Something like mirth glittered around his eyes, a smirk threatening around his lips, before he shrugged.

“You know ASL? Maybe you could learn to sign.”

He gestured as if to say ‘see any libraries around here’. She hummed in acknowledgement.

“You don’t look like a Tom. Can I call you something else?”

He shrugged noncommittally. With the Noah kid still christening him something new every day, he was probably used to the transience.

Stumped, she told him honestly, “I can’t think of anything right now. Let me get back to you on that.”

 

The rain pelted against the roof of the barn they had found like a forgotten lullaby.

They sat around the fire, trying to lighten the mood after Rick’s bed time story. Of course Noah and Carl resorted to their favourite game. ‘Guess what that guys actually called’. She wasn’t ever a patient person, and truthfully Noah got under her skin a little bit (maybe that was the heatstroke talking), but tonight she was sick of it. Of the games and the guessing and the _everything_.

“You don’t look like a Jake. And you don’t look like a Travis. Picked you up at Grady Memorial. How about Grady?” Carl put forward. The boy gulped more water from his cupped hands, obviously uncaring about the matter. Grady - finally a conclusion to the everlasting mystery.

“Nah. You don’t suit Grady either.” Noah declared.

“That’s it, I’m sick of this.” She tossed aside the freshly cleaned knife she’d been toying with, aware she might stab somebody with it. They all looked up, confused, “Calling him a new name every time you open your mouth. It’s stupid, annoying and honestly a little twisted. It’s like you can’t decide what you want to call your dog! He’s a person so shut up and stick with a name!”

“She is right, you know. We can’t have everyone calling you something different.” Carol put forward in a stern support. Rosita obviously wasn’t the only one tired of the run-around.

“But what name?”

“Riddle me this kid, where are you from?” She looked down on him a little sympathetically. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t speak.

The question seemed to stun him into meeting her eye. He examined her for a long while before reaching out an unsure hand to the ground in front of him. It was as if he was scared that a walker was going to erupt out of the earth and eat him alive. In front of her, he marked out a ‘CA’ in the dry dirt.

“California? You came all the way from California?” He nodded somewhat heavily. It must’ve been a rough trip. No wonder he didn’t ever want to open his mouth. “How about Cali? It’s as good a name as any.”

“Cali,” Noah tested on his tongue, “I like it. I'm not gonna stop guessing though.”

 


	3. Nicholas

 

Here’s the thing: Nicholas knew. Knew the mute guy’s name wasn’t Cali – what a stupid alias – and that was something Nicholas liked knowing. It was the only thing that could rile him into violence, by calling him Nameless, or No Name, even the Mute. That one he took particular offence to.

He didn’t do it out of malice, Nicholas was a good guy, but Deanna had to see that these people were unfit for the Alexandrian way of life. If he had to get punched to do it, then it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. The more he irritated him, the closer Cali got to the edge, and the closer they were to sending the strangers on their merry way.

Either way, he had to go. Cali specifically. Cali or Stephen or Jimmy or whatever his stupid name was. He _had_ to go. The mute was like a demon; the kind his grandmother wittered on about. The kind that would trick their way in and leach away the world beneath you, before finally ripping everything away.

He was dangerous for this place, unpredictable and threatening with his baseball bat and his vacant expression. He wasn’t always so stony faced, and after the first incident of Cali showing emotion, Nicholas wished he hadn’t.

Nameless had laughed a twisted closed mouth giggle when Nick had the wind knocked out of him by one of their thugs.

He’d spat blood at Aiden’s feet with a murderous scathing glare when he’d been elbowed in the pre-run walker team-building fiasco too, which was less scandalous but if anything, far more offensive.

But the chortle was what got him. Got Nicholas fired up. That wasn’t how this was supposed to be going, he was supposed to the one cracking not Nicholas. And yet Nicholas found himself walking over the glass roof of his paranoia.

Cali had this way of looking at Nicholas like he _knew_. As if the freakish mute could _see_ him and all his flaws.

He had never been ashamed of being a coward. Not until Glenn and Tara and Noah and Freak-show had shown up and told them him and Aiden they were pathetic. Worthless. Mice. Well, Nameless didn’t _tell_ them anything and maybe that was worse. The silence. The pressure. The unrelenting judgemental eyes boring into his soul.

Yes. California No Name had to go. And Glenn. And Tara. They all did.

That was, if Nicholas didn’t go first.

 

He found his perfect opportunity not soon after. The rotating doors. He didn’t want anyone to die per se, but if he could just slip through first he could get away and paint whatever truth he wanted. That they killed Aiden. That they’d try to kill him too. Anything to prove to Deanna that these people weren't domesticated, and if he got back to Alexandria before them their endless tyranny would end and everything could go back to the way it was.

 

Noah was a good kid. He just wished it had been Cali.

 

He saw it now. Standing on a dumpster, the sunlight haloing Glenn’s face and not his own. He had fallen too far. One more fall, one more cowardice, and he would not have to be forgiven for anything else. Not ever again.


	4. Simon

Normally Simon didn’t care about any new residents of Hilltop. Bigger numbers, bigger haul, bigger cut for them. Simple. It didn’t matter who the residents were, and besides who cared about their sob story anyway? They were cattle, providing for their masters.

But it had been a while since Hilltop had widened the gene pool, and Greggory seemed loathe for them to meet his new acquaintance. That was interesting; not because it was unusual for Greggory to keep his easily insulted people away from the saviours, but interesting because he tried to feign a casual dismissal as he led Simon and his boys into his office. It was too casual, and Greggory wrung his hands at the mention of him. If meeting this mysterious stranger raised Greggory’s blood pressure, then all the more fun for him.

“Derek Hale.” Strong name, stronger jaw. He had all the makings of a good Saviour, a little sulky perhaps, a little lone ranger, but powerful. Loyal, and if not to Greggory, to Jesus (that might spell a little trouble in the future all these people favouring Jesus, he’d look into that, needed Greggory to stay on top what with how much of a pushover he is). Derek Hale had a little danger in his swagger, a little darkness in his brow and damned if Simon didn’t like it. Derek Hale seemed like Negan’s kind of guy.

He had one integral character flaw – he did not take direction well. Simon said come here big guy. Derek tilted his head, maybe offended, or maybe surprised. Simon said now. Derek antagonistically licked his teeth behind his closed lips. Simon said learn some respect. Derek refused to drop his gaze.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“I don’t have much to say to thieves.”

“Now I don’t like a hero.” Simon took a warning step forward, sensing where this conversation seemed to be going. It was expected of course, that the fresh meat would have a little difficulty adjusting to the new world order, nothing they hadn’t dealt with before. Just folks from the wild, figuring out how they fit into civilisation. He got the strong impression of a dog that needed to be trained.

“Good thing I’m not a hero.” That, that caught Simon off-guard.

“Yeah?”

“Hm. ‘Hero’ would imply I’m a good person.” Simon chuckled. Maybe Derek Hale had a greater streak of saviour than he’d originally pegged him for.

“I like him, Greggory. He’s got spirit. See now, I have no idea why you wouldn’t want us to meet this fine young gentleman.” Derek quirked a lazy eyebrow at this information, a flippancy Simon hadn’t pegged the guy for – he seemed too intense to be flippant.

“Uh, Derek you can leave now.” Greggory nervously dismissed him, gesturing desperately towards Jesus who leant watchful in the doorway, but Simon placed a hand over the man’s round shoulder.

“No, no, I insist you stay. Tell us Greggory, enlighten us all!” he swung his arm around the taller unflinching man, having to rock a little onto the balls of his feet to be able to reach, "Why on earth would you wn\t to hide _this_ beast from us?"

“Our dear friend here is a little too- He’s uh- Derek doesn’t have the natural inclination towards politics you and I share. He um-At times, I find-“

“Spit it out, Greggory.”

“Derek has a rather abrasive personality.”

“Really? This smiley guy? No way!” He reached out to grab Derek’s chin but the moment he got close enough, Derek jerked away. He looked like he was about to growl at the offending hand, elbowing Simon’s ribs to get his arm off of him. Greggory looked as if he was about to choke on the air behind his desk, Jesus straightening in the doorway ever the peacemaker.

Now it was Simon taking offence.

Breaking the tense silence, a call signalled that the trucks were loaded. He eyed Derek distastefully, the conflict to demand respect losing out to the desire to get home and have a nice long drink. Next time.

“Watch your manners, Derek. They’ll get you into trouble one day.”


	5. Greggory

There was something about Derek Hale that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Something instinctual, animalistic, a whisper by his ear that breathed ‘predator’. Greggory did not like feeling as if he were the prey.

Greggory was not stupid. He heard what Jesus and Derek would say to the others, quietly in the bustle of the day hidden in the alcoves where they thought no one else could hear. It wasn’t paranoia, he knew they wanted to get rid of him. Wanted him gone, he knew it, maybe even wanted him dead, but Derek and Jesus were not loyal. He had no room for those who were not loyal. He was _not_ prey.

It had only taken him the better part of the morning to figure out what had to be done.

 

Greggory had found Derek sitting on the steps of his caravan, a black jacket across his knees. His scowl, the one that was permanently carved into his features, was perhaps stronger than usual. A dark thunderstorm swirled over him and for a moment Greggory reconsidered what he was about to do. Then Derek’s piercing eyes locked onto him, and he knew – it had to be done today.

“You and I, Derek, we’re friends?” He assumed his best demure pose in hopes of keeping Hale placid; he needed this conversation to go well. If he could convince Derek to convince Jesus to do it, all of his problems would be solved.

“How can I help you, Greggory.” It was not a question. That was another thing Greggory did not like – the man refused to use any kind of question mark.

“There’s something I need you to do, something I can only entrust with you and Jesus.” The man roughly threw down the scavenged leather jacket he was patching back together to focus all of his attention on him. Greggory felt his collar might have been buttoned too tightly today. Something in the man’s vehemence reared up that instinct again – the instinct to bare his neck. He pushed the foolish urge back down, and refocused on his intentions. “The Saviours have informed me they want our contributions doubled. You may tell Jesus, but no one else can know, not yet.” Derek hummed darkly, Greggory taking it as his cue to continue, “I’m afraid this means you and Jesus must find a way to gather supplies from that warehouse you told me of.”

“You mean the warehouse the government used as a safe-zone. The one packed with walkers chewing their own arms off because they’re so hungry. That warehouse.”

“Yes Derek, I’ve looked into every other possible option but I’m afraid it’s the only way we’ll meet the deadline. Jesus has scouted there before, it’s untouched, and we _need_ those supplies.”

“You’re full of shit, Greggory.”

“Excuse me?”

“Like you don’t know what people are saying. They're tired of you. I’ve heard about what you did, passing off every single weapons, rolling over as soon as the saviours say sit. You let them kill a kid in your own damn walls.”

“How dare you!" He felt a hot burning hatred sizzle through his veins, a red burning anger that scorched up his neck, "This colony has always been my foremost important priority-“

“You’re embarrassing yourself.” If anything, it was Derek that was embarrassing him – people were beginning to stare, “You want Jesus out of the way because you’re threatened by him. You think you’re some sly old fox sending us off to our deaths just to get us off your back, let me tell you something _Greggory_ ; I’ve known foxes. You’re nothing. A rabbit caught in the headlights, you’re a piece of roadkill; your time here won’t last and when it falls apart don’t expect anyone to stay loyal to you. Least of all me.”

Later, Greggory will recognise this to be the most he’s ever heard Derek Hale speak. He will recognise it as the point where he decided he preferred Derek saying nothing at all, rather than speaking full sentences. He will recognise it as the point where he began his descent as the leader of the Hilltop Colony into a weakling of shame and disgrace. For now though, all he sees it as is a man he’d rather be lost to the biters.


	6. Jesus

No one could count in months anymore, but Jesus was certain about it – it had taken months for Derek Hale to finally trust him. Taken months for him to tell him about the nightmares, and the people that haunted them.

They didn’t normally take others with them on runs but this time they needed the extra hands to carry back their load; this time there were others to witness Derek’s vulnerability.

He had been stoic, trying hard to remain as their guard so he wouldn’t have to sleep, knowing too well what awaited him in the realm behind his eyelids, but by the second night, Derek couldn’t do it anymore. He was too tired to make any scathing remark or sarcastic eyebrow wiggle when Jesus playfully prodded him about it in quiet murmurs, and that worried Jesus more than any lack of sleep did. So Derek succumbed. And that was the mistake that would derail any progress Derek had made with the others.

The night was doused in blue and lilac. Their group of six had taken residence in an abandoned office building, where they stood a better chance against predators what without sufficient weaponry, and Derek was hunched in a corner on the floor, back to the wall. He would choose to sleep there tonight. It was so Derek.

Jesus knew that had Derek not so obviously been mourning for someone, Jesus would totally be into him.

(It was the brooding)

Jesus assessed the man through lazy curious eyes. Derek hadn’t exactly been a model citizen. Derek was like an omen looming around Hilltop, never making friends, never making connections, just appearing and vanishing in the periphery. He brushed off any authority Greggory would try to assert like a speck of dust on his sleeve, and he’d rarely be the one to initiate conversation that didn’t begin with irritated eyebrow signals.

Still, Jesus went to sleep that night in the herd of the group, which lingered away from Derek slightly, content to let the guy breath his own air for a while.

 

Jesus was woken in the middle of the night by a cut off yell – Derek was awake.

He and Jesus had an agreement that whenever the other would have a nightmare, they’d ask once if they wanted to talk about it, and leave it at that. The others didn’t know about the ‘outside the wall’ etiquette, and of course Kai had to go and open his mouth:

“What’s a Stiles?”

Any progress Jesus thought Derek had been making with ‘friendships’ died the moment Kai opened his mouth before his brain thought it through. The others in the group blearily followed Kai’s question across the room to Derek, who looked very trapped beneath their sleep-ridden stares.

Under the scrutiny of their entourage, Derek took his exit out of the near window onto the balcony, and pulled himself up to the terrace above. It was dramatic – also very Derek. Jesus, being the fellow drama queen he was, followed the lonesome figure in an identical fashion much to his friends’ hissed protests.

“Who were you thinking about?”

“Who were _you_ thinking about?”

“My friends.”

“Yeah.” The words were dry in Derek’s throat, merely an acknowledgement of the fact. “Same.”

“Want to talk about them?”

“No.”

They left it at that, and Jesus stayed with him, sitting on the edge until the sun rose.

When the moon finally fell away, Derek sighed, and swung down off of their perch, as if it was just another day.

(It was)


	7. Carol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kill me. shoot me dead. I'm so tired but you guys are worth it

Here’s the thing about love: it’s bullshit. It cripples and destroys, and turns everything it touches into ash. Love will kill you.

From the moment their Californian boy fell into the arms of the brooding man – _Derek_ , Jesus called out to him –, Carol could see that what they shared was love and hence it would mean the deaths of them both.

-

_"I don't like him, Rick." The fire cast an ominous glow across the tarmac, illuminating the sleeping bodies, huddled in the cold of the night. Daryl, Rick and herself were the only three awake, and set their gazes upon the boy in question - Cali. He was asleep next to Carl on his side, Judith huddled between them on her bed of jackets. Cali had been entranced with her._

__"What do you want me to do, tell him to leave?"_ _

_"He won't say anything. How are we supposed to trust someone we cant have a conversation with?"_

_"'S just a kid. All the way from California, probably saw some messed up shit." Daryl gnawed on his thumb nail. Traitor._

_"Everyone's seen some messed up shit, why should he get a free pass?" A rustle in the forest had them jerking round. After a few pauses, they relaxed, as much as one could relax these days. Carol knew Daryl would check in the morning for any tracks. God she hoped there were tracks._

_"You saw him in that hospital," Rick hissed quietly, "He was no more alive than any other walker out here. We saved his life."_

_"Fine. Wait and see."_

- 

Their Californian boy choked around sounds that stalled in his mouth, as his knees betrayed him and Derek lowered them both to the grass. “S-Stiles? Stiles?” Derek’s face was wet and his voice was thick and Cali still sounded like there was a whirligig lodged down his throat. Next to her, Sasha murmured _‘what’s a Stiles?’_

_-_

_The night was clammy. The thick clouds of the day had trapped in the heat, but they would likely pass over before any rain could fall. That was just their luck these days._

_The knife was clammy in her hand too._

_Carol was not above murder for the sake of the group, she'd proven that to herself may times before, but this time it felt different. The boy she was kneeling over was really just that - a boy. His face was relaxed in his sleep, and she envied him his good dreams, but the softness of his expression brought out his true child._

_There was a time where she would have held him and stroked his brow, but that was long ago, and she wasn't that mother anymore._

_Carol had been here many times before, over his sleeping form with her knife tight in her knuckles. She'd never gotten this far; she had it raised. The problem wasn't his youthful sleeping face, or his back against Carls, or the way he inclined towards Daryls' side. The real problem, was that she wasn't sure she could betray them all again._

_Carol couldn't do that, not to Rick, not to Maggie or Glenn, and certainly not to Daryl._

_She'd been distracted. Off her game, and now Cali's eyes were open. A startled breath escaped his lips, a whisper lost to the night, but she heard it all the same. He was looking up into her eyes with fear._

_Or with resignation, she couldn't be sure._

_Either way he closed his eyes and rested his head back against the ground._

_She scoffed, sheathing her weapon," Don't be so weak."_

_Not tonight. Maybe not any night._

_-_

Derek’s nose touched the line of Cali’s neck. Cali’s hands were shaking, scared to touch the man’s face.

Such a shame, knowing their love would kill them.

-

_The walkers had come from nowhere._

_The exhaustion, the dehydration, the hunger, it was getting to everyone. Carol had been hungry before, but not like this. She'd been thirsty before, but not like this. She'd been tired before, but not this bone deep, harrowing, ache._

_Maybe, Carol decided, that was what had thrown her off her game. The fatigue. The walker had come from nowhere and almost ripped her face off, and she'd barely blinked twice before it was on its back with Cali's baseball bat embedded in it's skull._

_The bat was caught in a fractured piece of the skull still attached to the spine, and as he struggled with it facing his own plague of exhaustion, another walker wandered up behind him._

_The fray was barely registered, around her as she dove in the way of Cali and his doom to spear the walker with her own favoured weapon._

_It wasn't until they were resting, passing around the last few bottles of water, that she realised what she had done. She hadn't thought about it, she had just done it. Later, Carol would realise, that it was what she did for family._

_-_

Rick growled something from between his teeth at the stranger. She didn't need to hear the words to understand the sentiment. His assessment was echoed in the postures of their family.

This would be a hard one to sell.


	8. Rick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I hate this chapter? Yes. Do I care? Not particularly.

It took a while for the boy to give off any other vibe than a bleak nothing. Sometimes it felt like there was a ghost trailing behind them, vague and empty. Now and then he’d get this look across his face, like he wasn’t sure what he was doing there, and yet not quite sure where else he was supposed to be.

It had taken Glenn’s smile and Maggie’s warm hand to draw the boy into the group, but it was still Daryl he was drawn towards. Moody, quiet, protective Daryl. Maybe he found a friend in the silence.

Rick would allow himself a smile whenever he’d see how the boy inclined himself to Daryl’s side. Daryl was too much of a bleeding heart to shun the orphan because – and Rick was sure of this – Daryl saw a little of himself in the boy-near-man.

 

Rick could understand he supposed; understand why the boy didn’t want to speak, or share his real name. He was detaching himself from whatever haunted his past. He was choosing who he wanted to be. Rick could respect that, however carefully, but had to wonder who he was before that he wanted to escape from. At least he didn’t call himself ‘The Governor’.

It was easier when Rosita had christened him ‘Cali’. It was a name he didn’t suit, but as long as he had one name they were calling him by, there would be no more confusion:

‘Hey Rick, tell your boy to hurry up.’

‘Which one?’

 

Noah was still trying to guess California’s name. It was whispered hoarsely under the dark of the starless sky, where Rosita couldn’t hear them. If she couldn’t hear them, she couldn’t get angry with them. Rick didn’t mind, not if it meant Carl would smile, even if the smile was tainted.

It was easy to forget about stars. So far away and so unimportant, but Cali liked to watch them. Rick thought he liked the moon more though; he always swivelled his head to seek it out and his lips twisted funny if it was hidden behind the clouds. Rick wasn’t sure he wanted to ask; he supposed the mystery was part of Cali’s charm.

 

Rick found himself protective of Cali. He seemed to slip into their peculiar demographics so easily. So when Cali fell into the arms of a dark stranger in the elusive Hilltop Colony, the first feeling that shot through Rick’s chest was panic.

Cali, their Cali, vulnerable to an outsider, but it was a stranger he seemed to know.

There was a conflict in Rick’s gut – he couldn’t yet trust these people, he wanted to draw the boy back close to his chest and submerge him in the thick of their defences, but Cali knew this man, cared about him.

Was sobbing into his neck.

Didn’t that mean they should at least try to trust Hilltop?

No. He’d trust Cali’s judgement, maybe even Cali’s friend, but never strangers. Never again.

“Stiles?” That was the first word the man spoke. Breathless and unbelieving. All Cali could do was choke on his sobs.

 

Rick felt the words bubble up from his chest through his throat, and rumble between his lips, unbidden, before he could stop them, “Who the hell are you?”


	9. Eduardo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eduardo is an actual character from the show, admittedly a background character, but a character all the same

Eduardo watched anxiously from his post above the gate, spear sweaty in his grip.

There was Derek, and there was Derek hugging one of the newcomers. Actually, hugging was rather generous a word – it was more desperate clutching, like they could absorb each other if only they could squeeze tight enough.

“Who the hell are you?”

It was the leader. Unkempt hair, thick scruff, the posture of a wild animal ready to attack. Eddie prayed it didn’t come down to a fight, because he knew for certain he wouldn’t be the one to walk away alive.

“S-Stiles, who are these people? What-what happened to you?”

The boy in Derek’s arms choked around his sobs, strangled, aborted noises, like his throat had been screamed raw. He seemed to try and stand up from the grass where the pair had collapsed, but Derek wouldn’t relent his hold.

“Family. That’s who we people are. So that just leaves you.” The gruff man burst their bubble of reunion, his people around him ready to follow his lead. Hypnotic. That was the only word coming to Eddie’s mind. Deadly, like a pride of lions. Like a pack of wolves.

The man steadily drew his gun, the cock of the trigger ringing out softly almost as if it wasn’t a fatal bell toll.

“Put it down, Rick, he’s a friend. My friend, please.” Jesus didn’t seem to be convincing, Ricks hand steady. Eduardo felt a drop of sweat rolling down his spine; he was ready to strike on command. He’d gotten pretty good with this spear, even if he didn’t feel much like protecting Derek Hale of all people. Asshole.

“We knew each other- know each other, from before. From Beacon Hills-“

“Put it down Rick, please.”

“I am really not in the mood to ‘put it down’. Cali, you know this guy?” From beneath Derek’s chin the boy nodded frantically, pushing out from the man’s arms to bat the aimed gun towards the ground. Rick held this Cali-Stiles boy by the side of the neck, looking deep into his eyes. From the height of where Eduardo stood, he couldn’t say what Rick was looking for or what he saw, only that he holstered his gun as if it hadn’t left his hip in the first place. “Then I guess he gets to live.”

Rick pulled him in for a brief second, before the boy staggered back into the arms waiting for him. It was a murmur, barely audible, not even really directed at anyone, but Eduardo heard it anyway:

“Today, at least.”

Today.

And wasn’t that all they could really ask for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, it gets lonely here by myself


	10. Negan

The boy had pretty lips. Soft. His face was wet with spilt tears, but that only seemed to gloss his mouth like a seductive poison.

_Eeny_

His eyes were rich, with anger, fear, determination? Whatever it was, he wanted more. Wanted to bathe in the passion raging within.

_Meeny_

A smattering of moles speckled his face, leading a tantalising trail down his jaw, his neck, and teasing beneath his collar.

_Miny_

He knew then, looking down into that pale face mottled with bruises and spattered with mud, that he would have him.

 

 

_Moe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm not finished yet


End file.
